Void
by VillainousVexation
Summary: PREMOVIE. The day the man in room Five forgot who he was. First in an ongoing series of stories leading up to and beyond the movie. Larkhill in all its nasty ickiness.


A/N: This is the first story in an ongoing timeline I'm working on. I have chosen to release each story as a stand-alone, rather than a chapter, because I feel like it. All stories in this series will be identified as such. It has no name as of now.

Disclaimer: I do not own. And, given the horrible things I do to V in some of these stories, maybe I wouldn't be a responsible owner. But I should have him anyway. Ours is a forbidden love. Do not sue me, because my tears are not worth anything. This disclaimer is far too silly for the story that follows.

He woke up with a start, as he did every time. There was no gradual awakening. He simply went from the nightmares in his head to the ones that existed outside of him.

(awake)

(pain)

He lay on the floor, struggling not to think. It might be morning; the doctor hadn't come yet. (no needles today please no needles) Neither had the fat man who had spit in his face the other day - Prothero. (i laughed at him couldn't help it he is the weaker creature in the link he thinks he is better but he is not human even rotting before his eyes i am still stronger) And the guards (no no no no) - The thought was slammed away. They had not been there yet. He could still move.

He did a slow inventory of his body. His lips were still raw and peeling from the latest injection. If he opened his mouth, or moved his lips, they cracked and he could taste the blood. They seemed so interested in his blood. (i swallow your research ha ha here is some of me you won't get to look at under a microscope)

He couldn't stop shivering, although he wasn't especially cold; it was simply a twitch he could not stop. The sores on his calves hadn't opened up again. A few seemed to be healing. If he squeezed them, the audible 'pop' would be accompanied by black fluid running down his legs.

The big bruises that covered his whole body had not changed. They were neither better nor worse, a collage of black and blue striking against his pale skin. He wasn't sure from which injection they had come. His stomach hurt, knives twisting into it every time he moved. His throat was dry and sore. The guards had not been there yet, so he was not bleeding. He felt the floor against his cheek. (cool the only good thing in this cell the floor it does not keep me in it holds me when they knock me down) Closed his eyes. Tried not to think.

The sound of footsteps moved him to sit up, scratching nervously at his shaved scalp. His nails were bitten to the quick. He didn't want them to see him lying down. He was afraid. (keep walking don't come here don't come here nothing has changed still the same no updates needed) He flinched when he heard the lock turn.

Dr. Diana Stanton walked in, followed closely by two guards. Not THE guards. He relaxed very slightly. Whatever happened, the guards would leave with her. Maybe those guards had the day off. (can people have days off in hell a break from hell a respite not me there is no break just pain or nothing nothing)

'How are we feeling today, Five?" She checked her clipboard, observing him folded into himself, glaring up at her.

His initial reaction was to laugh in her blank, emotionless face. How the fuck did she THINK he felt? But it would change nothing. And she wasn't worth the effort. Also, his last outburst had landed him in one of the glass boxes, black bag over his head, for two days. That injection had made his thoughts break down to gibbering, and he had been lost.

Noticing his silence, Stanton knelt down beside him. She took his wrist, checking his pulse. He forced himself not to flinch, feeling the bile rise in his throat as she touched him. At least she wore those gloves. He could survive as long as the rubber gloves stayed on. She was the only one who touched him. She and those guards, the ones that held him down and – (no she doesn't get to see the pain no she sees enough of it)

'Your latest tests have showed some very interesting brain patterns, Five. I'm impressed.' She never looked directly at him. Even at moments like this, when she was shining a light into his eyes, she wasn't seeing him. The hatred rose up. This creature thought she was better than him, just because she could lock him up away from the world and nobody would notice. But he noticed. And the look in his eyes clearly showed he would not let her forget.

And 'Five.' He despised being called a number. Although lately he had become rather fond of the number itself. It was the only thing there that didn't hurt him. Still, he was a person. Barely, but he still felt he warranted a proper name. If they were going to kill him, torture him, they should at least call him by his name when he died. He was not 'Five,' he was -

(nothing)

In the space where his name should have been, there was darkness. Nothing at all. He frantically tried to remember the last time he had thought about life before Larkhill. More blackness. It was as if the memories had escaped while he slept, left for a better, safer mind.

(nothing nothing there is no before there is this i was born here i died here i know i was someone else before this do i)

(i know i should know)

(i am only aware of what i have forgotten by its absence)

(there is no one here)

Stanton paused in her examination. The patient had gone stock-still. His eyes were glazed, and a look of panic had crossed his face. Mildly alarmed, she touched his shoulder through the orange jumpsuit.

'Five?' His eyes focused on her, with such raw intensity that she quickly looked away. He was the only one who still looked at her like that. Soon he would be the only one, period.

'I can't remember.' His voice was hoarse, and Stanton made a mental note to check his fluid intake.

'Remember what?' The man had folded into himself, his eyes still with that fear in them.

'Anything.'

(not true not true i remember two and two is four and the days of the week and the works of shakespeare and how to drive a car but who am i was i ever anyone i know i should remember why can't i remember did they kill me is this hell)

Stanton flipped through her notes as the guards shifted, bored. They had seen enough patients collapse mentally that it had ceased to have any entertainment value. They expected more from this one, and here he was acting like all the rest of the weak sobbing creatures.

'Am I to understand you have no idea who you are?' The man nodded.

'I was. I know I was. But now I'm not. If I can't remember it never happened. Never. No. Past is illusion. So no. Never was. Who was he, I wonder? Did he deserve this? Did he? He's gone. Gone gone gone. He let them get me. Left me here to take the blame. Bastard. Did he deserve this? No one does. He shouldn't have left me. Not fair. I can't follow him. He escaped. He's free.'

Then he began to laugh. It was a demented, empty noise that caught the attention of every person in the room. His laughter took on an hysterical pitch. He managed to gasp out, still howling, 'Nothing nothing... he got away... good for him... he got away... all's well that ends well.'

'Five,' Stanton said sharply. He had dissolved into helpless laughter, the noise becoming increasingly alarming. He must be having a negative reaction to one of the medications. 'FIVE,' she repeated. But she might have been a ghost. With a sigh, she nodded to one of the guards, who obediently handed her a prepared syringe with a sedative.

Usually, this made her patient grow hostile, even violent. He despised the injections, no matter what they did to him. Even when she told him he was helping his country, he put up a fuss. No loyalty. Probably why he was there.

But this time, there was no reaction. Even when she took hold of his arm and injected him, he didn't notice. He was tumbling through his mind, and would not return for a few hours. Stanton didn't mind that, although she was annoyed that in this state he couldn't lucidly explain his reactions. They would have been valuable for her research. What bothered her most was that he was still laughing. Even when the sedative took hold, and he slumped bonelessly to the floor, he still giggled weakly.

When the man had ceased to move, and only let out an occasional chuckle, Stanton stood and walked to the door. The guards followed her obediently. As they walked out, she paused and looked at the creature huddled up on the floor.

'I'll return later, Five. We're increasing your fluid intake. Can't have you dehydrated. Maybe then you'll be calm enough for me to take a look at you.'

The pile on the floor let out another muffled giggle, then was still.

Of course she knew his name. It was in her files. Most of such information was gone, taking by the idiots like Prothero. But his reactions were so extraordinary that she had requested his personal information, to try and understand why he was responding the way he was.

It was all frustratingly normal. So normal that she had forgotten most of it herself, remembering only that which was pertinent to her work. She did, however, remember his name. Or what had once been his name. Or the name on the file. He wasn't really a person, was barely a human. Incidents like the one today convinced her of such things. He would be better off here. At least here, he was contributing.

For a moment, she debated telling him. Just to see his reaction, to see if it brought back any of his now-lost memories. It would be interesting, that much was certain. But it was only a moment. After all, she told herself, as she waited for Five's door to be properly shut, what would be the point? It wasn't important. In the great scheme of things, none of this mattered anyway.


End file.
